Monday, January 4, 2016

Year End Isms: Part Two

Early in the school year, I received a call from the school informing me that London felt sick. I quickly hopped into my car and went to save my sweet baby child, a dramatic sort of school rescue I've mentioned I'm rather fond of. It wasn't one hour into our arrival home that it was clear to me that London wasn't feeling bad. Not bad at all. No faking-sick-from-school Oscar nods for her. As I approached her in her bedroom, where she was loudly playing and giggling, skipping in circles around an ensemble of her pony figurines, I observed:

"Well my my, London, you sure seem to be feeling better quickly?"

She withdrew in momentary bashfulness, suddenly painfully aware of her mismanaged acting skills. She heaved a heavy sigh and shrugged her shoulders in surrender.

"I'm sorry. But it was CHINA day in the cafetewia."

"China day? You mean they were serving Chinese food?"

"Um...yes. And I don't understand what the lunch lady is saying!!! She speaks English! And the line is hurrying and she is like "Goodygagaga goo gaaa gaaa buu buu ba" and I don't weally know what she is saying!!!!"

It took half a second of mom-decoding, but I quickly understood the full situation at hand. London was not faking. Her stomach did hurt. Because that day she had been forced to confront what I call another Londageddon: an unwelcome but completely benign situation involving the mildest, non-crisis element of social confusion which London is quite positive will utterly end her existence.

First. By English, London means Spanish. My girls cannot seem to get this distinction straight.

Second, hot lunch at school. You really should see my girls faces when I inform them that they will have hot lunch for their school day. It is a reaction analogous to the sort of devastation a person would offer up when given a life-time sentence in a North Korean labor camp. When I haven't found time to replenish the grocery supply and the princesses don't receive their usual organic sandwiches with fresh containers of blueberries and pop chips, their cries and looks of disapproval and judgment actually almost make me believe I deserve to hand over my mom card. At first I took it hard, but I quickly recovered from that nonsense. Now, they are informed resolutely on any random morning of their impending hot lunch sentence for the day. If they display any protest they will be forced to spend the rest of the morning googling pictures of refugee camps and writing three hundred sentences of I will not be a First World Sissy. I will not be a First World Sissy. I will not be a First World Sissy.

Suddenly, I could envision the entire scene perfectly. London, forced to confront the horror of the hot lunch line. She begrudgingly enters the masses; the slow shuffling feet of dozens of innocent, anonymous, uncared for children like her making their way towards doom. The frightening stare of the lunch lady manning the register, asking London to give her lunch account number. She's one of the prisoners, identified only by number. It's straight up outta a Les Miserables scene. 24601. The mere reality of other persons behind her, waiting their turn, coupled with an on-demand memory recall of a sequence of numbers would undoubtedly provoke anxiety in her belly, causing her to forget her lunch number entirely. She gives it in the wrong sequence. Wrong, says the scary lunch lady. They have to look her up BY NAME... oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd. People. are. waiting! Her account is found and she is pushed through to the next land-mine zone: WHAT ITEMS DO YOU WANT? WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT? KEEP THE LINE MOVING. Mushy orange chicken or dehydrated egg rolls? WHAT IS IT GOING TO BE LONDON? PEOPLE ARE WAITING, LONDON. Only she isn't exactly sure that the two concoctions in front of her are orange chicken or egg rolls, because with the thick accent of the "English" lunch lady she is only hearing, according to her translation " Goodygagaga goo gaaa gaaa buu buu ba"!

She's about to faint. She is going to die. That, or poop her pants.

No. NO. This will not work. Not for London. So what does she do? Marches straight to the nurse's office and demands that she is going to vomit before being subjected to such torture.

Smart.

Diva.

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On Non-Beliebers:

A Justin Bieber song comes on the radio:

"I don't understand why Justin Beiba is like, so gwoss now?! He used to sing like "Oh girls are good, girls are good! Now, he's like "Girls are fat, girls are dumb, girls are poopy!" I don't like him anymore."

{Good to know. Pretty sure he never sang any of those things?}

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On the struggle:

"WHY is EVERWYBODY so RWUDE to ME? I was just in my RWOOM laying down, RWELAXING. Then....Ellie came in and RWUINED MY LIFE!"

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On A-Ha! Moments:

London: "WAIT. Why does running the air conditioner cost money?!"

Mom: "Because, London, everything costs money."

London (wide eyes): ".........EVEN FOOD?!!!!!!"

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On inventions:

{At the dinner table}

Mom: "Okay guys, if you could create any invention you wanted, what would it be?"

Lily: "A cell phone that could transport you to a different place and a money machine!"

Dad: "A time traveler!

London: "A computer at the library that tells you where the books are."

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On good big sisters:

One afternoon London had orchestrated a fun imaginary game with Ellie and Emerson upstairs for a good chunk of time. As I entered the room and found them happily playing together, London exited to grab something downstairs. After she left, I remarked to Ellie and Emerson,

"Wow, do you two know how lucky you are to have London for a big sister? She sure is fun to play with ----

London's voice interrupted from downstairs: "AND CRWEATIVE! Make sure you add that to the list too!"